


Thank You

by Monica_Hart



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Afterlife, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 16:08:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18694840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monica_Hart/pseuds/Monica_Hart
Summary: “Thank you.”Two words, and Theon’s world turns upside down.





	Thank You

**Author's Note:**

> A bit late to join the party, but here it is.
> 
> Also featuring gratuitous Hamilton references and perhaps a Falsettos one. Sorry about that.

The last time he was in the Godswood, he’d begged to die as Theon, not as Reek. 

 

The old gods have answered his prayers.

 

_ Thank you,  _ he whispers as another arrow hits its mark. But it’s not enough. He’s only got limited men and a few arrows left.

 

The Ironborn on his right is losing the fight-- Qarl -- he was on Dragonstone, he was the first to step forward when he’d announced their mission--

 

His arrow hits the wight.

 

They’d all volunteered. They didn’t protest when he’d told them they’d be away from the main battle, guarding a crippled boy. No one turned away when they knew it would be suicide. “What is dead may never die,” Qarl had japed to scattered chortling. When he’d thanked them for coming, they just shrugged it of, unused to praise.

 

He’s out of arrows. One moment of hesitation leads to him being knocked off his feet. He stabs the wight, pushing it away. 

 

He can’t remember exactly what happened, but the only words ringing in his head are  _ Bran, protect Bran -- _

 

The last wight shudders and falls. He stops to catch his breath, while glancing at his surroundings. 

 

Bran remains still in his chair. If it weren’t for the ring of untouched snow, Theon would’ve thought he had died, and he’d have failed again.

 

Bodies litter the ground. He’s the only one standing, and he’s never felt so exhausted and warm.

 

He looks up to tell Bran they’ve made it. The words never finish, as the entire army’s here.

 

All the heat drains out of him as the Night King steps onto the front line.

 

You could see the glee and terrifying plans in Ramsay’s eyes. Same with Euron. The Night King’s eyes show nothing. They are cold, empty pits. Just like Roose Bolton’s, but a pure blue.

 

Theon had always thought Ramsay was  _ the  _ monster, and the Night King would just be another Ramsay. It’s strangely unnerving that it’s the opposite.

 

He isn’t just a monster. He is death and destruction and darkness and decay.

 

There’s no way they can survive. 

 

The most insane thought flashes past. No, it’s too dangerous, he’d die. He’s not afraid of dying, but he’d turn into one of those things, just like Reek all over again, and Bran would be defenceless --

 

If he just stands here, they would certainly die.

 

It’s worth a shot.

 

“Theon.” 

 

He turns around. Bran’s eyes aren’t cloudy anymore. They’re fixated on him.

 

“You’re a good man.”

 

Theon doesn’t object. He’d betrayed his family, taken Winterfell, beheaded Ser Rodrik, made hIm and Rickon run away among all the things he’d done… yet Bran still sees the good in him. Just like Sansa, Jon and Yara all did. So did Robb.

 

Would he see him when he dies? Would he still hate him? 

 

He doesn’t care that he’s crying. Bran’s emotionless face shifts slightly. 

 

“Thank you.”

 

Two words, and Theon’s world turns upside down.

 

_ No, thank you,  _ he wants to choke out a reply, but a voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Bran interjects: “I know.”

 

Looking the Night King in the eye, Theon picks up his spear and runs. 

 

Death. It’s been hanging over him since he came to Winterfell as a ward. One move by Balon and his head would roll. His first execution he’d been to was when he was ten, and Ned Stark made him his swordbearer since he was thirteen. He’d slain his enemies and friends. Then he’d died and became Reek. Both have begged for death many times. He’s so used to it, it feels just like a memory.

 

And now, it’s finally going to get him, several feet ahead of him, in the form of an unfeeling ice creature.

 

He’s not going to run. He’s been running for too long.

 

His eyes narrow, focusing on the chink in the armour.

 

He thrusts the spear.

 

For a moment, he thinks he’s done it.

 

_ Crack. _

 

Then --

 

_ Clang. _

 

The wooden end of the spear prods out of his gut.

 

He raises his head. The NIght King stares back and lets go.

 

He thinks the Night King was staring at him with the tiniest bit of respect before walking towards the heart tree.

 

_ No.  _ Theon tries to grab the NIght King’s foot, or do anything to slow him down, but he can’t move.

 

He’d failed. Again.  _ I’m sorry, Bran. I’m sorry, Robb. I’m so so so sorry -- _

 

A failure. A coward. A turncloak. A eunuch and a fool. That’s his legacy. That’s what he’ll be remembered as, if he’s fortunate. Another casualty in the Battle of Winterfell.

 

If only he’d stayed with Robb. Putting on one last stand at the Twins. Going down like a hero.  _ Where was I? I should have died with him. _

 

Robb. His first friend. He should’ve been the last face he sees. Instead, it’s the killer of the entire world, though they’re both blue-eyed.

 

At least he’d made a difference. He’d held them off enough to buy Bran some time. And be the reason of his death and everyone else’s.

 

He’s running out of time. 

 

He sees someone. It’s not a White Walker. The man’s grinning.

 

_ Ramsay?  _ He coughs up blood.  _ No, no, no, please don’t be Ramsay -- _

 

The man’s clearer as everything else blurs.  _ Robb? But -- but -- _

 

Everything stops. He’s feels as if he’s being pulled up. Then he plunges into nothing.

 

_ Thank you _ , he murmurs to the Night King.  _ it’s quicker than I imagined. _

  
  
  


The scene turns to white. Is he a wight?

 

He finds he can open his eyes. The sun shines on his face.

 

He hands feel grass -- and he has ten fingers again. The scent of blue winter roses lingers in the air.

 

He pushes himself up and takes in a sharp breath.

 

He’s in the godswood, but it’s summer.

 

He’s dead then. But why is he here? Shouldn’t he be in the Drowned God’s halls?

 

“Hello, Theon.”

 

Robb Stark stands a few feet in front of him, smiling.

 

Theon kneels and begins, “Robb, I’m sorry --”

 

“I know. And I forgive you.” Robb pulls him to his feet and wraps his arms around him. Oh gods, has he missed this.

 

“Why? But -- but you should hate me --”

 

“I’ve never hated you, Theon. And I’m the one who should apologise, I should’ve gone to rescue you when Roose Bolton gave me your skin, I never ordered that, and gods, you didn’t deserve anything that happened--”

 

“You -- you think so?”

 

“Of course. I know that you think you deserved it, but no one should’ve gone through that, and honestly the only thing you deserve is this.”

 

He’s surprised by Robb kissing him, but he leans into the kiss. The last time they’d been with each other was before he’d left for Pyke, and he feels like they’re back in Robb’s tent, locking lips as if it was the last time they’d be together -- which it was. 

 

He doesn’t know how long he’ll stay here, but he doesn’t want to leave.

 

‘Thanks for saving Bran," Robb whispers into his ear.

 

“What?” He’s startled. “But I died --”

 

“You bought Arya a few more minutes to get to the godswood,” Theon jumps at the sound of Ned Stark’s voice. “She killed the Night King. The Long Night’s over.”

 

Arya killed the Night king. “So -- I’m dead, right? But why am I here?”

 

“When someone dies, the gods send them to their home.” A voice he hasn’t heard since eight explains. Alannys Greyjoy stands by the pool near the Heart Tree, beaming at him with open arms.

 

Theon runs towards her. She ruffles his hair, something he loved as a child. “I’m so proud of you,” she smiles.

 

“You’re here, too?” he says 

 

“Temporarily. I have to go back soon.”

 

“Am I coming with you?”

 

“If you want to. But I think you’d like it here more. It’s brighter and warmer -- and he’s here.” she gestures at Robb.

 

Theon sniffles. “Will I see you again?” 

 

“There’s a way, but I'll leave it to them.” She caresses his face. “Theon… I love you.” 

 

“I love you too, Mother.”

 

She steps into the pool and disappears. He doesn’t move, thinking about what she’d just said.

 

He feels Robb’s hand on his shoulder. “Should I show you around?”

 

“I’ve lived here for ten years, Robb.”

 

Robb nudges him. “You know what I mean. And you haven’t meet everyone.”

 

Theon laughs and follows him. Before he leaves, he turns to Ned, who's... smirking?

 

“He doesn’t mean anything -- he's just -- you know, basic courtesy --”

 

“It was fairly obvious. Go with him,” Ned nods. “It's the happiest I've ever seen him.”

 

He can't think of anything else to say except: “Thank you.”

 

“No, thank you for saving our family.” Ned pats his back, something he'd never even dreamt of. 

 

“Welcome home, Theon.”

 

Theon has never been so thankful for the Starks.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, Theon Greyjoy, for everything. You're a good man and you'll be remembered. Now go live your happy ending with Robb.


End file.
